


Omitted Truths

by motherconfessor



Category: Emerald City (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Trans Character, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Love Confessions, Unhappy Ending, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:23:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10098167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motherconfessor/pseuds/motherconfessor
Summary: Becoming Ozma had never been about revenge nor was it for his people. They both knew that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, I accidentally had the previous West/Tip fics as femslash, I've now corrected it to being F/M. Secondly, eventually I'm going to get around to writing a short fic about Tip becoming King Tip –– this is just because I'm in an angsty mood after that new Hayley Kiyoko video for Sleepover. 
> 
> And finally, as always, this is crossposted on my tumblr.

The official coronation was over, the feast had been eaten, and over the last few days, his officiates had removed and scrubbed every remnant of the wizard from his parent’s chambers, returning it to their former glory.

So they said.

Tip didn’t care. He didn’t care for the hundred-or-so dresses that were being made for him and packed into wardrobes that had their own rooms. He didn’t care for the advisors, hand-picked by Glinda and approved by West. He didn’t care for the food he ate, the politics he spoke for, the laws he learnt.

He did _not_ care.

But he would learn to, so he told himself, undressing behind the partition screen as a servant girl handed him nightgown and robe. He would learn to care for the people, the servants, everyone. He would learn to become Ozma.

A knock came at the door as he pulled the nightgown on. He heard the footsteps of a servant, before she spoke, “Mistress West requests to see you.”

“Send her in,” Tip said, stepping out from the partition as he pulled the robe on. The girl curtseyed –– he still wasn’t used to that –– and left to retrieve West, who he was sure was just down the hall, tapping her feet impatiently. The formal request was only to tease him. Had West been in a less playful mood, she would have entered the room with the servant girl shortly behind, protesting and apologising that she’d been unable to stop her.

Tip dismissed the other servant in her room at West’s arrival.

“My Queen!” the girl began at once and Tip’s hand lifted as a headache began to build behind his eyes. “Of course,” she said quickly, taking his day clothes away to be laundered, or whatever they did with the clothes. “I’ll have someone come up to ––“

“No need,” West said and the servant girl’s mouth dropped before turning furious.

“There’s no need, Melody,” Tip said with a smile. The girl curtseyed before exiting out the grande jade-green doors, looking over her shoulder as the Queen’s Guards shut them behind her.

At the leave, Tip’s shoulders dropped, the facade –– so it felt –– slipping from his skin until he was just a boy again, standing in an emerald robe with gold trimming and black embroidery.

“You shouldn’t do that here,” West urged.

“Why? You don’t care.”

Her lips pursed, heel clicking on the white marble before West turned away and stared at the glowing fire in the room. Even that was emerald.

Tip was beginning to hate the colour.

“You can sit,” Tip said, loosely gesturing to the lounge by the balcony as he took his own seat on the side of the bed.

She didn’t move. Instead, she chose to ask him, “What’s wrong? You’ve been in a mood since the Wizard’s death.”

Shrugging a response, he mumbled, “it’s just exhausting.”

With that, he watched West’s head loll to stare at him, her eyes looking over at him in disbelief; not because of the lie, but that he’d even attempt one with her. “You have everything you want,” she said, nodding to the room. The palace.

Tip felt a nerve twitch, the headache growing. “This _isn’t_ what I wanted.”

“The wizard is dead, your parent’s murderer is banished in a fate worse than death,” she said, gesturing loosely with her blackened fingers over to where the balcony looked over Oz. “What more could you want?”

“ _Me_.”

Her jaw clicked, head turning away. “You’re still you,” she said, though her words were soft, ashamed –– no, not shamed, he realised, but regretful.

He didn’t care. What did he care for how she felt now? “You don’t get it,” was all he answered.

“I don’t?” West asked, turning to look at him.

“No, you don’t, because if you did you wouldn’t say that.”

“You still get to be ––“

“How is this _being_ me?” he demanded of her, rising to his feet to gesture over himself. “In the privacy of my room? When I escape from the others and sneak into the market? That isn’t  _me_ , that’s _hiding_. I have to hide now because of all this, because…” and he gave a sigh, his hand dropping. He didn't want to hurt her, he realised too late.

But she picked up the unsaid, “Well, what did you expect?” West asked, venom in her mouth. “You chose to become Ozma when you chose to take the throne.”

“I didn’t do this to take the throne.” Frustration rolled over every inch of his body as he stared into her eyes. “I did this for _you_.”

West rose her eyebrows, a smile pulling on her lips. The bewilderment of her face cutting at his heart almost as much as the amusement did. “You did this for revenge,” she told him. “And for your people.”

“Maybe, but I could have left that all behind." Then, drawing in a breath, he admitted, “But I couldn’t leave you behind. Not at the hand of those witches and…” he ducked his eyes away, unable to say the words, _and not now._

West just stared, her hands folding over her chest as she stared at him in that unsettling way. “Stop that,” Tip said to her, flicking her magic away as it nudged at his soul. “It feels weird when you do that.”

West huffed. Petulant as always as she began to take a step closer.

“You don’t need to say or do anything,” Tip said, steeling himself from making another humiliating decelerating. “I was just saving your life, is all.”

“Of course,” West said dryly before she walked over the marble floor, stopping just before him.

Tip swallowed, staring down at the black lace hem of her dress. There were many times, back in the brothel, that Wst had done this exact same thing, her hand curling underneath his chin, tilting it to look up into her eyes as her expression became just as vulnerable as his. This time was no different.

And just like all those times, there was the sensation that curled in his gut and made him feel scrutinised, tingling with magic as he looked into those blue eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“There's nothing to apologise for,” she told him. And then, she was leaning forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

It was warm, comforting and seemed to say everything neither one of them could right then. It felt as if magic came from that kiss, slipping down his body and through his lungs until it finally found his heart and eased it.

Breathing out, Tip felt the headache melt away before West stepped back and smiled, her hand cupping his cheek as she leant down until they were eye-to-eye.

“You can still leave,” she said to him. “I will help you, if that’s what you want.”

His smile tilting to one side of his cheek as he gave a shrug, “Nah, I’ve got more people to look after now,” he said.

He wasn’t lying as he said those words to her, but when she wrapped her arms around him and held him to her chest. He knew that all that could be said, had been said.

But that she knew the rest.


End file.
